


A Stolen Life

by still_lycoris



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Brainwashing, Drugs, F/M, Memory Alteration, Post Gauda Prime, Psychological Torture, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kerr Avon is very happy. He loves his work and he loves President Sleer - and she loves him back. If he didn't have the headaches and the nightmares, life would be perfect. </p><p>Surely nothing could ever change that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stolen Life

Avon sat back on his chair with a small sigh. The two components weren’t fitting together the way he had hoped that they would. If he couldn’t fiddle with them himself, he would have to send them back and that would put the project back by months.

With another sigh, he picked up one of his tools. Once he’d have been able to sort this out with no trouble but he was getting old, he couldn’t deny it. Things were a little harder than they’d once been. But that was why he had the laboratories. Not that other people could ever _really_ be relied on but still. They were generally passable.

No, it was hopeless. The components just weren’t right. Putting them aside, he moved over to his plans, started to re-read them. Had he made a mistake or had the labs? Or was it just one of those things, a mistake that had to be corrected? It was difficult sometimes, so many projects, so little time … it was lucky he loved working so much. He’d get through everything. He’d never let Sleer down yet. Sometimes it took a while but every creation she’d asked for, he’d delivered.

The small print was looking blurry. His head was beginning to throb. Avon reached for his headache pills. Sometimes he wondered if the pains were just the result of so much delicate work or if it was simply something he would always have been prone to. The doctors all told him they were natural, that he should just keep taking the medicines that Sleer gave him. The medicines always worked quickly but sometimes, Avon wished there was a way of getting rid of the pain all together.

But everybody had their problems. He was lucky, on the whole, he had everything that he could ever have desired. What were a few headaches compared to that?

He was back to looking at the plans when the door opened. He twisted around, anxious for a moment, then relaxed. Sleer was gliding towards him, smiling her smile.

“Kerr.”

He resisted the urge to reach for her, a little embarrassed by his immediate need. They had been together for years, he felt that by now, he ought to be used to her but somehow …

She smiled, warm and lovely as always.

“How are you? It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s a hard life being president,” he said, relieved when she stopped beside him and stroked his shoulders. Her touch was soft, soothing.

“That it is,” she agreed, amused. “But I … somehow cope.”

She was stroking the back of his neck now and Avon leaned into the touch, letting his eyes close.

“I don’t have anything very exciting for you, I’m afraid. The blaster weapon you wanted is going to take a lot more work, I’m not even sure it’s my mistake yet or the idiots you have in the labs down there. I have an idea for a new engine even better than the Stardrive but it’s entirely theoretical right now. Everything else is simply in the dull stages.”

“And you know how I loathe the dull stages,” she laughed, slipping her hands down to his chest. Avon shivered, turned and reached for her. With another laugh, Sleer leaned down and kissed him.

Oh, he delighted in her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, even now she was older. Her kisses never failed to thrill him, her touch electrified his body. He couldn’t imagine how he could ever live without her.

“Oh, my Kerr,” she whispered. “You love me, don’t you?”

“Yes, always, yes.”

She liked to hear it, always asked him and he was always happy to remind her. 

“You need me?”

“So much.”

He stumbled to his feet, pulled her to the little bed he had in the lab. He liked to sleep there, when he could. He felt safe around his things, felt safe with his belongings and his inventions and the smell of electricity. Sometimes Sleer took him to her rooms but it was never quite as good for him, he never felt quite as happy as he did when he was in his own little place.

Sleer didn’t seem to mind. She wrapped around him, mouth on his, peeling his jumpsuit away. He reached up to fumble at her black satin, loving the sensation of it on his hands. She always wore beautiful clothes, it was part of being president, he knew. Sometimes, she dressed him up too but he wasn’t very comfortable like that. He preferred simple clothes.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll always love you.”

She just moaned in response and he pressed closer to her, caressing every inch of her, loving her. He knew where to touch her, she knew where to touch him to make him helpless. He loved her, he needed her …

When it was over – quicker than it would once have been, he was growing older after all – he lay sleepily against her shoulder, still loving the feel of it. She lazily stroked his hair and Avon smiled at the touch.

“A little more has fallen out,” he said. “I’m thinning there and thickening around the waist!”

“You’re still very distinguished,” she said comforting. He kissed her shoulder softly.

“You’re still so beautiful.”

She sat up a little and Avon looked at her, puzzled. Sleer was frowning, as though he’d touched on a sore point. She was looking at herself, touching the places where the skin wasn’t quite so taunt, where wrinkles were beginning to appear. Anxious, Avon caught her hands.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again.

“But aging,” she said. “And they all know it. They’re beginning to watch, circle like vultures with greedy little eyes, hoping that I’m going to go senile or just drop dead. Youth has such a power to it.”

“Age has power too,” Avon said, finding himself desperate to soothe her. He hated to see her unhappy. “Your wisdom, your experience … you know what you’re doing, everybody believes in you.”

“Oh, for now,” Sleer said, shaking her head slightly. “I know better to believe in their loyalty. Not everybody is as loyal as you, my Kerr.”

She kissed him and he felt the flood of warm safety that always came when he’d pleased her. She moved back and smiled at him, stroking his cheek.

“There’s a big celebration coming up.”

“Is there? What for?”

“Putting down a rebellion,” Sleer said. “It’s been twenty years and well, people do like a little party, don’t they? I need to be there, put in an appearance – very important for a president.”

“Will you be away long?” he asked, trying not to sound as though he minded too much. He’d be fine, of course he would but he would miss her so much, he always did.

“Quite a while,” she said. “But it won’t matter. You are coming with me.”

He sat up, suddenly alarmed. He _had_ left before of course, more than once, but he was never totally comfortable when he was away from his laboratory. It was his _home_ , even more than the little room that was just off the side. The time in the laboratories with the others, the times in Sleer’s rooms, even the few times she’d taken him away before … no, he just liked being _here_.

“Sleer, I – ”

“Hush,” she said, laying her fingers daintily on his lips. “No arguments, my dear Kerr. I’m going to need you there so you must come. You’ll enjoy it, I promise. We’ll spend every night together … ”

He swallowed, telling himself not to be a fool. He wanted to please her. It might be fun. He could take some work with him, he wouldn’t be idle. He wouldn’t disappoint her with cowardice.

“Where is it?”

“A small planet called Gauda Prime.”

She looked at him, as though he might have heard the name before but Avon simply shrugged. He knew very little of any of the worlds away from Earth, it was something that had never held any real interest for him. Sleer smiled.

“Not very much happens there. Except that we defeated this particular rebel. There’s a monument and people visit every year but this year, it will be a special anniversary and I simply _must_ show my face.”

He tried not to look too anxious. He had never been on a spaceship before, wasn’t sure if he would like it. Would there be space for all the things he needed? 

“Oh Kerr,” she said tenderly. “Don’t look so worried. You’ll enjoy the trip. I promise we’ll have some fun.”

Her kiss was lingering, warming. He kissed her back, wishing that he was still young enough to bed her all over again.

“Stay with me tonight?”

“Not tonight, Kerr. So many preparations. We’ll have plenty of nights, wonderful nights, very soon.”

She kissed him again, then stood and began to dress. He watched her, sorry that she was going but glad that she was smiling, looking content again. He loved to please her.

“Sleep well, Kerr. I’ll come to you tomorrow. Don’t worry, someone else will sort out your clothes. You just arrange your toolkit and projects.”

He smiled lazily at her. Yes, he was much better at packing equipment than clothes, he was sure. 

“Go to sleep, Kerr.”

He closed his eyes. He was very tired. It would be nice to sleep. He would sleep and everything … everything …

_He was restrained. He was struggling but he couldn’t get away, couldn’t break the bonds. There were people around him, ignoring him. They were just doing their jobs, they didn’t care, they didn’t care that they would destroy him._

_“It will all be better soon. You’ll see. You’ll be so happy when we’re finished.”_

_He was screaming, threatening, even begging. But they weren’t listening they were taking him somewhere, he couldn’t get away, he was going to die, he was going to die -_

He jerked awake with a cry, clutching the blankets to him, trying to reorient himself. One of the nightmares, that was all. Just one of the nightmares. Not even one of the worst ones. He was fine. He was safe. He was quite safe. It wasn’t real. Never real.

Stumbling from his bed, he went to take one of his pills. They helped him sleep. Sleer had given them to him, told him he should always take one after every nightmare and he always did, although he didn’t like them that much. They made him feel oddly dizzy, gave him strange hallucinations. Not as bad as the nightmares but they were disturbing.

But Sleer had told him to. So he took one and then went back to bed, curling up into a tight ball under the blankets and trying to ignore the strange creatures that began to crawl out of the walls and whisper to him. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. It probably didn’t matter but he didn’t like it anyway.

Morning was better though. He got up and prepared his lab for his departure, making sure everything was clean and tidy. He had a few little projects he could probably work on while they were travelling, maybe some other things he could develop. He wished he didn’t feel so nervous. It felt childish to be afraid of travelling. It might be fun. He’d be with Sleer, probably far more than usual and that would be lovely, wouldn’t it? Why was he afraid?

She didn’t come for him herself, she sent some of her guards. It didn’t help his state of mind at all, Avon hated the guards. Something about the black blankness of them, the masks and the suits … it made him feel queasy, made him want to … to do something. He wasn’t sure what. To run, perhaps. To fight.

But he wasn’t a fool and he didn’t do either of those things. He walked with them calmly, carrying his bag and tried not to look like he was gawping at the world around him too much. He saw it so rarely these days – hadn’t seen all that much of it before Sleer either. He’d spent most of his time in the Dome, nothing special, nothing interesting. Dull. She had made his life so much better.

The inside of the spaceship felt strange. Very metal, very cold. It didn’t smell like his laboratory, didn’t smell _right_. It ought to smell different, ought to feel different, there ought to be white plastic and an organic feel and …

His head was beginning to ache. He would need his medicine soon, he hoped he’d brought enough with him. Sleer would have packed some too, wouldn’t she? Of course she would, she wouldn’t let him down, she understood, she loved him …

She was waiting for him in her quarters, smiling her lovely smile.

“Oh Kerr, you do look anxious. It’s quite safe, I assure you.”

“I know,” he said, a little defensive. “I’ve never been on a spaceship before, I’m just … looking. Is there a laboratory.”

“Of course,” she said. “Although I hope you’ll spend most of your time in here.”

She ran her hands over his shoulders and he smiled at her, leaning in for a kiss. As his mouth touched hers, he felt a throb of pain and pulled back with a wince. She stroked his cheek.

“In pain, Kerr? Natural, with all this stress. Here – I have a new medicine for you to try.”

She moved over to a table, lifted a small syringe from it. Avon stared at it uncertainly, suddenly fighting a ridiculous urge to run. He’d tried all sorts of medicines over the years for his headaches and he often felt this silly desire. It was ridiculous, none of them had ever done him any harm. He smiled to show Sleer that he wasn’t going to be ridiculous and held out his arm.

“Good boy,” she purred and injected the yellowish liquid into him. “There. Let me kiss it better.”

She kissed his elbow, then slowly began to make her way up his arm. Avon found himself shivering at every caress of her lips. When he reached for her, she playfully swatted him away, continued her slow, steady kisses all over his body, easing off his clothes one by one. Her lips, her hands … Avon could feel his body reacting frantically, couldn’t stop himself moaning. This time when he reached for her, she didn’t resist.

At some point, the ship took off and began its journey to Gauda Prime. Avon didn’t even notice.

He wasn’t sure that he thought much of the new medicine. His headache _did_ go but he found himself oddly sleepy and confused, more so than he would have expected, even after such an enthusiastic bout of love-making. Sleer kissed him and told him to stay in bed as long as he wanted before she left him to attend to duties. Although he told himself not to be a fool, he found himself still in bed when she returned, caught in a half-dream that he didn’t understand.

“Good,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “Don’t fight it, Kerr. Let it take you for a while.”

If she said it was all right, Avon supposed it had to be. But he didn’t like it, didn’t like the feel of it. He hoped the medicine would wear off soon.

It didn’t. Or perhaps Sleer gave him some more in the night, he wasn’t sure. His mind continue strange wanderings that he couldn’t understand. When Sleer kissed and touched him, he responded but sluggishly. He felt clumsy and stupid but she didn’t seem to mind. She laughed and petted him and told him that he was doing very well indeed.

“At what?” he muttered but she just laughed again and gave him another kiss.

He lost track of the journey very quickly. They could have been on the spaceship a few days, a week, a month, he had no idea. He was only very vaguely aware of time passing. Sometimes Sleer was with him, sometimes she wasn’t. He dreamed uneasy dreams, mostly of spaceships and travelling to places that he’d never been to in his life. Sometimes, he dreamed of Sleer, only she was looking terribly young, younger than he ever remembered seeing her. In the dreams, he was angry, so angry that it frightened him but he didn’t know why. He even dreamed of trying to hurt her, woke up sweating and shaking.

“No more,” he begged her when she came back. “It’s worse, please, I’d rather have the pain … ”

She kissed him, soft and sweet and he relaxed a little, feeling safe under her touch.

“I’d never hurt you,” he whispered.

“I know, Kerr. You couldn’t hurt me.”

Something about the words troubled him but he didn’t know what, didn’t know why. He closed his eyes, let the thought slip away. Sleer stroked him for a while but it wasn’t sexual, it was simply comfort and after a while, he slept again, slipping back into the strange morass of uncertain dreams.

When he woke, the ship was no longer moving. He no longer felt so woozy, found himself quite capable of rising and washing and dressing. He was eating a small meal and thinking of beginning some work when Sleer came to him.

“Good, you’re awake,” she said, sounding oddly brisk. “I hoped you would be.”

“Have we arrived?”

“Yes. Would you like to see why we’re here, Kerr?”

He nodded and she smiled, held out a hand. He took it and she led him from the room, through the corridors of the spaceship. There were guards everywhere, all of whom jerked to attention as they passed. Avon wondered what they were thinking. Wondered if they just did it automatically.

It was dark, outside the ship. He could hardly see anything at all, just an impression of buildings and streets. Everywhere was completely deserted, silent. The only noise was the wind and their feet hitting the pavement.

Avon hadn’t been outside properly for a long time. He didn’t count walking to the spaceship. Had he ever been outside? He had a funny idea that he had but he couldn’t quite remember where or when. It was like a dream, a dream of cold, open spaces somewhere … 

“Where are we going?” he whispered, then felt stupid for whispering. There was no need to act as though they were in danger. Sleer was the president, they were quite, quite safe.

“We’re going to the war memorial,” Sleer said.

He didn’t know quite what to say to that. He felt uncomfortable suddenly, desperately uncomfortable. No, he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to see a war memorial. He wanted to go back to the ship, he wanted to be in the lab or bed or somewhere, somewhere …

“S-sleer, I … please … ”

“Shush, sweet. Trust me.”

He did. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he trust her, he loved her, he loved her more than anything, she wouldn’t hurt him, ever …

They were suddenly standing in a huge square. In front of them was a towering monument, lit from beneath. A man standing straight and tall, a gun in his hand. He was standing on a plinth and when Avon stared at the plinth, he had a sudden, horrible image of a dead body beneath the man’s feet, a lonely, shattered body …

“Come on,” Sleer said, sounding cheerful. She was pulling him across the square and Avon didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to see it close up, he wanted to leave this place …

“This is the spot,” Sleer said. “Where Roj Blake died.”

He didn’t know who Roj Blake was. He didn’t … the name wasn’t familiar. Someone important? The rebellion, Sleer had mentioned that. She had turned now and was staring at Avon, her eyes glittering in the darkness. She didn’t look like his Sleer any more. Suddenly, she was frightening, everything was frightening. His head was beginning to ache again.

“I … Sleer, I don’t feel well, I want … can we go back?”

“No, not yet. I need you to help me, Kerr. You want to help me, don’t you?”

Her voice was a soft purr, warm, gentle, wrapping around him like a blanket. He swallowed.

“You know I do. You know I … I’d do anything for you.”

“Good,” she said. “Then I need you to pretend for me.”

“Pretend …?”

They’d played “pretend” before, a few times, always in a sexual context. Avon never actually liked it that much. He liked being with Sleer, not being her plaything or slave or … but he wanted to please her.

“You’re a rebel,” she said, her voice soft, coaxing. “You’ve fought against me, against the Federation. You have a computer, a powerful computer that could help me. But you hid it, wouldn’t surrender it to anybody. Nobody knows where you hid it. Where would you have hidden it, Avon?”

He moved away from her but she grabbed his wrists, digging her nails in. She wasn’t his Sleer anymore, she was somebody else, she was something else and he didn’t like it, he didn’t want it.

“Sleer, please … ”

“Tell me,” she ordered, her voice suddenly cold. “Tell me where it is.”

“I … there’s nothing to tell, I … I can’t play this game … ”

“Yes you can. And you will. You _will_ tell me, Avon. You _will_ tell me. You love me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, weakly.

“You need me.”

“Yes.”

“Then please me. _Tell_ me.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, please stop!”

His head was pounding. He couldn’t see, everything around him was beginning to spin. Sleer’s hands felt too hot on his wrists, her nails too sharp. He didn’t want, he didn’t want this, he didn’t understand what was happening to him …

“Tell me where it is, Avon!”

The darkness was crawling up him, slithering around him. He was seeing things, seeing things that weren’t there, like being caught in one of his nightmares. A man on the ground before him, dead and bloody and other bodies, so many bodies and sounds, harsh horrible sounds.

“ _Tell me!_ ”

He yanked away from her, stumbled blindly back. Somehow, he’d got turned around and he found himself pressed against the memorial. It was cold, so cold …

“Tell me, damn you! Where did you put it? Where did you put Orac?”

“ _Here_ , you fool!”

He said the words but it was as though they were coming out of somebody else, spilling from a mouth that he didn’t control.

“You’d never, you wouldn’t destroy your precious memorial, your proof that he was dead, that you’d won, you never would, you never would!”

He was gasping, almost sobbing, he didn’t know what was happening to him. Sleer stepped forward, caught hold of him again. He tried to struggle, tried to get away, he had to get away ...

“Kerr! Kerr, Kerr, you’re all right, it’s fine, my sweet, my sweet, look at me, look at me!”

He looked at her and she stepped forward, pressing her body against his. She was soft and warm and her hands came up to stroke his face. She swayed slightly and he swayed with her, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Good boy,” she murmured. “Good, good boy, it’s all right. It’s all right. Keep looking at me, Kerr. You love me. Say it, Kerr.”

“I love you,” he mumbled obediently. He felt sick.

“You need me,” she whispered, leaning up to rest her lips against his, not quite a kiss, just a caress.

“I … need you … ”

Her body pressed against his. Her hands stroking, feeling. She kissed him properly and he was lost in her, clinging to her desperately. She was pressing him against the monument and it was wrong, horribly wrong, he didn’t want to do this here but he couldn’t stop himself, not when she was tugging at his clothes, not when she was warm and his and making everything all right because all he wanted was for everything to be all right …

He reached between her legs and she moaned, squirming against him for a moment, then pushing herself forward and they were fucking, wild and frantic and Avon couldn’t think of anything except her and pleasing her and being with her forever and ever ...

Then it was all over and he had his face pressed against her shoulder and he was sobbing but he didn’t know why. Sleer stroked his hair and rocked him gently in her arms.

“Poor Kerr, You’re not feeling very well, are you? Let’s get you back. You can sleep there. You’ll feel better then.”

“Yes,” he agreed numbly. He let her sort him out, let her lead him away from the horrible, horrible memorial. He didn’t really know what had happened. He didn’t _want_ to know.

Sleer guided him gently back to the spaceship, into her room again. She gave him medicine and he took it gratefully before sliding into bed.

“It’ll be better in the morning,” she soothed. “You’ll feel fine in the morning.”

The funny thing was, he did. In fact, when he woke, he could hardly remember the night before. It was still there, in a vague sort of way. He knew he’d been out, knew he’d seen the memorial, knew he and Sleer had had some sort of conversation out there. But it didn’t seem important any more. His head wasn’t aching and he felt healthy again.

Well, almost healthy. He felt strangely restless. He knew that he ought to settle down and do some work, wait for Sleer to be done with whatever duties she had that day but somehow, he didn’t quite want to stay there, didn’t want to sit down. He wandered the spaceship, looking vaguely in the rooms, examining the engines. He’d designed that stardrive, more or less. His first project for Sleer, the one that had proved to her that he was worthy of attention. He remembered making love to her afterwards, the joy of it, the pleasure.

“Avon?”

He frowned, twisted around. There was a man standing on the other side of one of the machines. He looked around the same age as Avon, slightly smoother, perhaps. His eyes were large and anxious. He wasn’t wearing a Federation uniform.

“Avon?” he repeated. “Do … do you remember me?”

“I’ve never met you before,” Avon said, frowning. “What are you doing in the engine rooms?”

“I can get anywhere,” the man said, a slight quaver in his voice. “I … do you really not remember?”

“Remember what? I’ve never met you before, I just told you that.”

“I’m _Vila_ , Avon. Vila Restal.”

“I don’t know you!” he snarled, suddenly infuriated. “Leave me alone!”

“Oh, Avon, I’m so sorry. I really am so sorry. I thought … I didn’t realise … ”

Why wouldn’t this wretched man take the hint and go away? Avon turned his back on him, hoping that would be enough. He heard footsteps behind him and tried not to make it obvious that his shoulders were stiffening.

“So sorry,” the man said again and then his hand was over Avon’s mouth and he was dragging Avon backwards and Avon was kicking and struggling and trying to shout but the man was surprisingly strong, far stronger than Avon and then there was a sharp scratch on his arm and the world was beginning to spin …

He came round slowly, conscious of lying on a hard bed, then conscious of a strange smell, then strange noises. He forced his eyes open and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling for a moment before turning his head and staring at his four captors.

One was the man he’d met in the engine room, looking paler and more anxious. He was standing next to a tall, attractive black woman who looked to be in her forties. She was scowling and her scowl deepened when she saw Avon looking at her. The man on her other side was elderly too and looking puzzled. The final person in the room was a woman in a lab coat. Her skin was a few shades lighter than the first woman’s and she was the youngest in there by far.

“Where am I?” Avon asked, his voice a croak. The young woman promptly offered him water, which he refused.

“You’re in our headquarters,” the tall woman said, her voice cold. “Vila says you don’t remember him.”

“ _Remember_ him?! I’ve never seen him before in my life! What is this place? Why have you brought me here? Tell me!”

They all continued to stare at him, the woman looking a little taken aback. Avon sat up, wincing slightly, and stared around. The room had an underground feel to it – certainly, there were no windows. It was slightly clammy too. He swallowed, struggling with his fear.

“Are you terrorists? Is that it? Sleer said that scum like you might try and convince me to work against her. You’re wasting your time. I would die before betraying her.”

They all looked strangely horrified, as though the comment was the last thing they’d expected to hear. The one who called himself Vila turned to them.

“See? _See?_ I told you!”

“Avon,” the other man said, his voice slightly uneven. “Don’t you remember any of us?”

“I have _never_ met _any_ of you!”

“I’m Dayna,” the tall woman said and she sounded distressed now. “Dayna Mellanby. You … you saved my life. We were friends … ”

“ _Friends?_ ”

“I’m Del Grant,” the other man said. “We … Anna’s brother.”

“I don’t know you,” Avon said coldly. “I don’t know a Dayna or a Del or a Vila or an Anna. You have the wrong man. I should like to leave now.”

His head was beginning to throb. He tried not to show it. They’d use weaknesses against him, he was sure of that, people always did, didn’t they, they … they were bad people, they would try to hurt him …

“Avon, do you remember Blake?”

“I saw his death memorial yesterday,” he said coldly. “Some rebel that they killed.”

Looks were exchanged. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth. His head was aching more, the pain beginning to crawl behind his eyeballs. He wanted his medicine.

“All right,” Mellanby said. Her voice was gentle. “Avon, I know this will be hard for you to believe but you and Blake were friends once too. You … you’ve had a mindwipe.”

He stared at her, bewildered. She looked back at him, her eyes wide, as though she thought that would make him believe such rubbish.

“You’re familiar with mindwipes, aren’t you?” Mellanby continued, moving towards him. “The Federation has been good at them, burning out parts of your mind, your memory, blocking things off. Servalan has stolen your life.”

“I don’t know a Servalan!” he shouted at her. “I’ve never met a Servalan! I don’t know any of you but if you think you can trick me, you’ve got another think coming!”

His head throbbed and he put his hand to it without meaning to. The young woman stepped forward.

“Are you feeling sick?”

“Get away from me!” he snarled, moving backwards. “Let me _go!_ ”

“Sika, be careful,” Grant said.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” the woman said calmly. “Avon, I’m a doctor, I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t trust any of you! Get away from me! Let me go!”

“We can’t let you go,” Mellanby said. “You can forget that, Avon. You’re our friend and we’re going to take care of you. You’ll be fine, I promise … ”

Panic filled him. Why were they doing this? Why were they talking like this? It was a trick, wasn’t it, they were trying to drive him mad, frighten him, shake his faith. He moved away, pressed against the wall. His head felt like it might explode. They were still talking, all still talking, it was too much, too much and too loud – 

Darkness. But the pain didn’t stop. It stayed, burning and blazing inside him. He needed his medicine, he needed Sleer. Sleer would help him, Sleer always helped him, he loved her, she loved him, where was she, where was she?!

She glided into his dreams, sleek and beautiful. She kissed him, warm and gentle, her fingers in his hair.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

“You need me.”

“I need you.”

“Don’t let them take you, Avon. You mustn’t let them take you. You must kill yourself.”

Kill himself? No, he didn’t want that, he didn’t want to die, why was she saying that, why would Sleer want it, why …?

“You must do it, my love. You must. You must do as I say. You love me, you need me, you have to obey me … ”

He was stumbling up out of bed, reaching out blindly. She loved him. He had to please her. If she said this, it had to be right, it had to be the thing to do, it had to be …

“ _Stop him!_ ”

Everything was a blur. Hands and fighting and shouting. He had to obey Sleer. He had to obey her. Why wouldn’t they let him go? Why were they were trying to stop him? Why was his happening to him?

Another scratch on his arm. This time, the darkness was painless and dreamless.

Consciousness returned very slowly. He was lying on the bed again but his hands were tied now.

“Don’t panic.”

Sika, the doctor. Her voice was calm and Avon looked at her. His mind felt slow, numb. He couldn’t quite work out what he was doing there, doing on his strange bed in this room …

“You’ve tied me up.”

“Because you’re disturbed,” she said calmly. “That will pass, I hope.”

“Disturbed?”

He didn’t feel disturbed. He just felt strange.

“Where’s Sleer?”

“She’s not here,” Sika said. “Never will be. This is the headquarters of a rebellion. She’s the president of the corrupt Federation. What do you know about the Federation, Avon?”

“What’s to know? They’re the government, the High Council. Sleer doesn’t talk to me about that with me, too boring. I like my computers, my laboratory.”

“I see. Avon, can you tell me about your life?”

“What …. What about it?”

“How did you meet Sleer?”

“She … found me.”

It was hard to focus on the memory. It was so long ago, he was so sleepy, so confused. Why was he here? Why was this happening?

“Tell me how.”

“I … she found me. So bored, so lonely … she made it all go away. She made everything beautiful, I love her so much … ”

“What happened before that? How old were you?”

“Can’t remember … long time. Why are you asking me …?”

“You need to think, Avon. You _can_ recover your memories, you _can_ defeat her programming. She made you try to kill yourself. You’re a survivor, you don’t want that.”

“I … ”

Kill himself? He didn’t remember. He was sleepy and his head was beginning to ache again.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes.”

A pause. Avon closed his eyes, wondered what he ought to do. He supposed he should try and escape but he wasn’t sure how. The pain was building up.

“I need … medicine.”

“I’m sorry,” Sika said and she sounded it. “I think you should go back to sleep for a while.”

“No, I need … I need to get back to Sleer, I need … she needs me … ”

“Go to sleep, Avon.”

He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to argue, he wanted to protest, he wanted to go _home_. But he felt tired and weak and when his eyes closed, it was easier just to let himself drift rather than try to think through the building pain.

He was dreaming. Or he was awake, he wasn’t sure. The pain was too intense for him to open his eyes. He could hear talking, soft voices that seemed too loud for his aching skull.

“… why did she do it?”

“I told you, Avon said something to her but I wasn’t close enough to hear it. She’s got a reason for wanting to bring that statue down.”

“Does it really matter?” That was Mellanby, her voice angry “Right now, we have to deal with Avon!”

“His condition is serious.” Sika’s voice, very calm, despite the words. “I don’t know how much of the pain is treatable. He’s drug-dependant, to say the least – I need everything out of his system before I can even try to help him. And the programming and control will run deep.”

“So even if he can break through the mind block, it may be useless.” Grant.

“Possibly. I’ll continue to monitor his condition. If you want to help, come and talk to him when he’s conscious. You might be able to help him remember – or at least distract him from the pain.”

He didn’t want to be in pain. Why were they doing this? Why wouldn’t they let him go? He just wanted to go …

A different dream. A nightmare. A body at his feet, body torn open by the gun he was holding. Other bodies close by, silent and crumpled. Everything was destroyed. _He_ had destroyed it, he’d broken everything …

He cried out. The pain in his head was worse than he could ever remember it being. He continued to cry, a helpless, childish wail, struggling and fighting against the restraints that stopped him ending everything.

A warm hand took his. Stroked his knuckles. A gentle voice, trying to comfort him. Not Sleer, he wished it was Sleer, but this voice, it wasn’t too bad. Vila, that was it. Vila was all right. He could trust Vila, he could allow Vila …

Consciousness was fleeting – or awareness of it anyway. The pain was too much, reality too blinding. At some point, Vila left him and Mellanby was there instead. She talked to him about a weapon she was trying to design to break through the personal shields that he’d designed for the Federation. There were things wrong with her idea that he wanted to explain but it was too hard. Thinking about creating helped his mind; he drifted through circuits and computer programmes and for a little while, the pain wasn’t so bad.

But when it came back, it was worse.

“Can’t you _do_ something?” Grant was begging and Avon felt strangely flattered through the agony. Once Del Grant wouldn’t have spat on him if he were on fire …

“I told you, we need the drugs out of his system! I daren’t throw anything else in there. I’m doing everything I can.”

Grant kicked something. Avon wanted to tell him it was all right, even though it clearly wasn’t. His head …

“Avon, don’t die. Please. You have to remember. I need … you’re the only one. Please.”

He didn’t understand but it didn’t matter. Unconsciousness beckoned. It was easier to be unconscious. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to feel, except that he could still feel, the pain ached and throbbed and beat at every corner of his skull until he couldn’t think of anything except the pain, the constant, burning, raging _pain_.

Then the pain was less. Only slightly less, but that was something. He was conscious again, staring up at the ceiling. He felt nauseous and confused and … lost.

His mind was full of jumbled thoughts. A strange overlay of warring memories twisting in his skull, some of them foggier than others. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. The pain was still lurking but it seemed to have spread all over.

“Avon?”

He turned his head, looked at Vila.

“You haven’t aged well,” he croaked. Vila’s face split into a huge grin.

“You remember?”

“Unfortunately for me.”

He closed his eyes. His head was spinning. So many churning memories … what was important? Something was important, something was so, _so_ important …

“Orac. Orac is under the memorial. Get it … get it before … before her … ”

He broke off, shuddering. He didn’t want to say the name. He didn’t want to think about her. He couldn’t think about her, it wasn’t safe, it wasn’t at all safe. He was aware of Vila leaving the room, aware of people running around outside and shouting but he ignored it. Instead, he just looked at his memories.

It was strange. Some of them were vivid, blindingly clear – and yet at the same time, overlapped with equally vivid memories that felt as though they must be true too. Some of them were muddy, confused and he couldn’t reach them, not properly. And some of them were melded with other memories, reality twisted by drugs and machines.

Had it been like this for Blake?

Oh, Blake.

He’d forgotten Blake for so long. It hurt to remember. It hurt so much to remember. He’d destroyed everything. Destroyed Blake, destroyed his own rebellion, oh God, he’d destroyed his own rebellion. He’d made so many things to help the Federation, so many weapons and protective measures …

And he’d loved it.

He could tell himself intellectually that it hadn’t been his fault. Sleer - _Servalan_ \- would have broken him thoroughly before burning out his brain and twisting it to suit her desires. He’d had no choice but to work for her and delight in it. He didn’t remember what she’d done to him – he didn’t even remember how he’d ended up captured by her – but he hadn’t been able to control his actions.

But knowing something and believing it were two different things. He’d betrayed them all. He’d loved and worshipped a woman who had murdered his friends. And she had laughed at him behind his back, used him to prop up the Federation he hated.

He was going to _kill_ her.

He laughed at the folly of the thought. As though she would allow it. Breaking through the mindwipe simply gave him the knowledge she could use him. The programming that would have been laid into him … she’d say a word and he’d fall at her feet.

Hell, he might fall at her feet anyway. Thinking of her made his body warm. A little more and he knew he’d ache for her. He’d _loved_ her. 

She’d _made_ him love her.

He shoved the thought away and went back to picking through his memories, scrabbling at them, trying to work out what was real, what wasn’t. He knew that he might never manage it. Blake had spoken more than once about the memories that he knew were just at the edge of consciousness, not quite accessible, not quite real except in dreams. Avon wasn’t sure he could accept it. So much lost …

Footsteps. He looked around, found himself looking up at Dayna.

“I’m not going to release you,” she said bluntly.

“You’d be a fool if you did,” he said and she smiled, moving over and sitting down next to him. They had always understood each other, for the most part.

“They’re going to get Orac. I have to say, I’ve missed that little box. So many things are easier when you have a computer that can read everything that passes through other computers.”

“ _She_ tried to make me replicate it. I couldn’t do it. I might have been able to if I’d really know what I was trying but it was hopeless.”

He’d forgotten that, till now. She must have decided the memory of failure would be bad for him. Or might help him break the walls …

“Thank goodness for that,” Dayna said, unaware of his thoughts. She reached out, touched his hand. “Nobody will hold it against you, Avon. It wasn’t your fault.”

He looked away from her. He didn’t want her pity or her sympathy. He didn’t want pity from _anybody_.

“Do you remember everything?”

“I don’t know. How can I know? Don’t ask ridiculous questions.”

“Oh, you sound the same,” she laughed. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

“Did you think I had betrayed you?”

An uncomfortable pause. He nodded, allowed himself a grim sort of smile. Yes, they’d thought he’d chosen it. Chosen that life, chosen _Servalan_.

“I wasn’t sure, Avon,” Dayna said quietly. “None of us were. Well, Vila always believed in you, said you wouldn’t turn that way. And the fact that you didn’t give them Orac gave us hope. But none of us could get near you to find anything out so we just … lived with it.”

“You can live with a lot of things,” he said softly.

“Yes Avon, you can.”

They went silent for a while. Avon stared at the ceiling. After a while, Dayna helped him sit up a little, helped him drink some water, gave him something to eat. She didn’t untie him. He didn’t ask. If got to Orac in time, Orac could probably de-programme him, the way it had once de-programmed Blake. But it wouldn’t take away the sickness, wouldn’t take away the false memories and the lost years. So many things that he had lost, that had been stolen from him …

He would just have to start again.

It would be hard. It would be exhausting. He was old and tired and he didn’t want to fight another war.

But he was damned if he was going to leave the last war undone.

It was the only way he could really prove that he remembered who he was. What he’d done. What he’d fought for.

He was Kerr Avon again. It would have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the b7friday prompt "War and remembrances."


End file.
